


Like Pavlov's dog, only with sex

by SandyQuinn



Category: Deadpool - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-11
Updated: 2010-08-11
Packaged: 2017-10-11 01:19:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/106685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SandyQuinn/pseuds/SandyQuinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every relationship has problems, but this wasn't one of the obvious ones.</p><p>Still, it'd work out. (And not just because Weasel's libido.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Pavlov's dog, only with sex

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nighteyes (AdderTwist)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdderTwist/gifts).



> So I wrote this mostly for certain someone, and I'm posting it here because there is not enough Wade/Weasel in the world, and I'm hoping my pathetic scribblings will annoy someone enough to write something glorious. SEE WHAT I DID THAR, GAIZ? :D

Weasel is a night-person. He’s always been. Maybe that comes with the geek-territory somehow, staying up too long in the evenings working on something or watching porn or Battlestar Galactica, and then sleeping in on the mornings. At least, he's never heard of geeks who get up in the morning with sun and start the day with a healthy jog. (And now he made himself nauseous.)

It works out well, anyway, considering that Weasel is a freelancer, and therefore can pretty much pick his own work-hours.

Unfortunately (Or fortunately, considering that Weasel is now getting laid regularly and he’s happier than he’s ever been.) Wade is an Oh-Fuck-My-Inner-Clock-Is-So-Messed-Up person.

Which means that it’s five in the morning and something is poking Weasel’s thigh. Something decidedly… penis-y.

“Ynghfff-“ Weasel rolls on to his stomach, burying his head in the pillows. Wade makes a curious sound, like a freakish, gigantic horny puppy, and Weasel did not just imagine that.

“TIME IS FOR SLEEP.” Weasel is not actually aware that he’s speaking, or that he's not making much sense. He's mostly asleep. Wade whines, rolls on top of Weasel (but keeps most of his weight off of him) and starts playing with Weasel’s hair.

Somewhere in the midst his doze, Weasel catches babbling about chimichangas, grape-juice, glue and sex, and apparently all of those things are somehow related. He drifts off peacefully while Wade tries to braid his hair.

Skip to a few days later, Weasel has just finished something complicated and possibly deathly. These days, whenever he presents his doom-gadgets to Wade, it tends to lead to sex, so by classical conditioning, he’s actually rather aroused by the time he pads to the living room to talk (=show off) to Wade.

Who is asleep.

In the middle of the day. Even if he slept through last night peacefully.

Weasel rubs his face, staring at Wade snoring and drooling and almost falling off the couch. This is not cool. He wants sex. He wants sex with Wade, specifically, and he wants You-Just-Made-Something-Lethal congratulatory sex. They have a problem here.

“Freelancer,” Weasel mutters. “Flexible hours.” He wonders how quickly he could adjust himself to Wade’s mad sleeping hours, looks down at his arousal and decides that he has a new project.


End file.
